The Quality of Mercy

by Ari McKay

  “But I like it here,” Caleb replied with a proud lift of his chin. “I’ll swear not to talk, but I ain’t gonna swear to leave. Not unless Carlos says no.”

  Jules didn’t like it, but he had no reason to believe Caleb would keep his word about any of it. He would simply have to cross his fingers and hope that if—when—Carlos refused him, Caleb would leave.

  “Fine.” Jules rubbed his forehead. “Fine, you win. I hope you find a way to live with your conscience over this, maybe even forgive yourself for it. Because I swear before God that I will never forgive you as long as I live.”

  Caleb laughed as he pushed back his chair and stood up, seeming to relax now that he’d gotten what he wanted. “Ain’t nothing to forgive. All’s fair in love and war, right? You can hold your grudge all the way to the pearly gates for all I care.”

  “Believe me, I will,” Jules replied, giving Caleb a contemptuous glance. “Men like you end up getting what they deserve in the end, Mr. Moore. If I’m lucky, I’ll be around to see you get yours.”

  “I doubt it.” Caleb put his hat back on and touched the brim in a mock salute at Jules. “You’re too old for that. Glad we could reach an understanding, Mr. Wingate. Have yourself a good day,” he said, and then he sauntered to the door.

  Jules watched him go, then put his head down on the table, his control slipping now that he was alone again. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, and telling Carlos things were over for good was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  He was doing the right thing, he told himself firmly. So why did it feel so terribly, bitterly wrong?

  Chapter Seventeen

  CARLOS HUMMED softly as he let himself into the foreman’s house, ready to wash up and spend a quiet evening alone with Jules. He glanced into the parlor but didn’t see Jules, so he headed to the kitchen to see if Jules was in there. Jules’s class might have run late, and if that was the case, Carlos could heat up whatever Consuela had brought them for dinner and have it on the table when Jules got home.

  He found Jules sitting at the kitchen table. The room was dark, and Jules sat as stiff and unmoving as a statue, staring down at his hands where they rested clasped together on the top of the table.

  Frowning, Carlos lit the lamps before approaching Jules. Something was wrong, and he hoped Jules hadn’t gotten any bad news. They were alone, and Al was having dinner with Tabitha and her family, so Carlos felt safe in reaching for Jules’s hands when he sat down beside Jules.

  “What is it?” he asked softly. “Can I help?”

  Jules’s fingers were ice cold, and they trembled in Carlos’s grasp. “No,” he said, his voice low, the word seeming forced from his lips. Jules bowed his head farther. Carlos felt something warm and wet strike the back of his hand, and he realized Jules was crying silently.

  Too startled to speak at first, Carlos gripped Jules’s hand tighter. He had never seen Jules cry before, not even when he caught Carlos in the arms of another man. Jules had turned white before he walked out, but Carlos hadn’t seen him shed a single tear.

  “What happened? I know Al is safe. I just saw him off to town. Is it your leg? Did you receive bad news?”

  Jules shook his head, then drew in a shuddering breath. “No,” he replied, his voice thick and rough.

  “Then what is it?” Carlos scooted his chair closer, worry blooming in his chest. He couldn’t imagine what might have upset Jules so much, and he almost didn’t want to find out. “Please tell me, Jules. I want to help if I can.”

  “You can’t.” Jules’s words were so low that Carlos would not have been able to hear him had it not been so completely silent in the house. “I can’t even help myself. I… I just realized that I… I won’t ever be able… to really trust you. And I’m tired of trying.”

  Carlos’s heart froze and stopped beating. He swallowed hard, trying to convince himself that he’d misunderstood, that Jules hadn’t really said those awful words. But he had, and on some level, Carlos couldn’t even muster any surprise. That Jules wouldn’t be able to let go of the past and forgive Carlos’s betrayal was his biggest fear, and now it had come to pass.

  “Are you certain?” he asked, clinging to what little hope he had left. “Perhaps with more time….”

  “I’m certain,” Jules said, not raising his head. “I won’t waste any more of your time by stringing you along. I’m sorry.”

  Carlos drew his hands back, his throat closing up tight, and he sat still, feeling as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. Matt would probably urge him to fight, but he had been fighting for a second chance ever since Jules’s return, and it hadn’t done any good. If Jules couldn’t trust him, it was no one’s fault but his own.

  “I see,” he said at last. He pushed back his chair and stood up, his limbs heavy and slow to respond. “I am sorry too for my mistakes, past and present, and for all the hurt I have caused you. I will pack my things and move back into my house, and I will leave you in peace.”

  “It’s my fault.” Jules gave a single, choked-off sob. “I hope someday you can forgive me.”

  “It is not you I must forgive, but myself.” Carlos turned away before he could do something foolish like take Jules in his arms and beg for more time to prove his worth. “It is my own fault that you have no trust or faith in me, no one else’s. I only hope you will be happy.”

  With that, he hurried out of the room, eager to pack his things and escape this house. Once he had harbored fantasies about living here with Jules for years to come, but now he saw empty years stretching out ahead of him.

  Perhaps one day he would be able to put his love for Jules behind him and find happiness with someone else, but that day was far, far away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  CHRISTMAS WAS less than a week away, but Carlos had never felt less like celebrating. Ever since moving out of the foreman’s house, he’d spent a great deal of time holed up in his office, a tiny room off the stables that Gil had added on for him after he was put in charge of the horses. In there, he could hear the snorts and soft whinnies of the horses, the quiet stamp of their hooves—comforting, familiar sounds. He didn’t have to see the foreman’s house or Jules; he could make the stables his entire world and pretend nothing else existed beyond the horses that were always happy to see him, especially if he had a carrot or apple in hand.

  Gil had come by the day after Carlos moved out to ask what had happened. To anyone else who asked, Carlos had said Jules was well enough not to need two full-time caretakers any longer, but Gil knew better. To Gil, he’d said, “Jules made his decision.”

  Carlos was thankful it was Gil he’d told the truth to first. Gil had grown more relaxed and open since coming to Bent Oak Ranch, but he was still an innately reserved man. He didn’t ask Carlos a lot of difficult and painful questions, and he didn’t try to coax Carlos into talking about what happened. He’d simply said, “I’m very sorry,” and left it at that. If Carlos had broached the subject himself, he knew Gil would have listened, but instead he showed Gil the records he’d written up for the new horses and outlined his plans for breeding them, and Gil had accepted the change of subject without question. It allowed Carlos to speak the words aloud for the first time and get it over with without any added pressure to say more or dissect the relationship’s corpse.

  Unsurprisingly, his conversation with Matt wasn’t so brief. It was over a day later before Matt came to find Carlos. He’d said he was sorry and he’d do anything he could to help Carlos, and would always be there to listen if Carlos needed to talk. Then he’d added something unexpected.

  “I don’t know what it is, but something ain’t right about this,” Matt said with a puzzled frown. “I went to talk to Jules to plead your case since I knew you wouldn’t. His reaction was right odd too. He looked pained, but there was something else. Granted I don’t know him well, but in anyone else, I would’ve said he was scared like a horse waiting for a rattlesnake to jump out at him from
behind a rock.”

  “He is probably worried you and Gil will throw him off the ranch or snub him because you are my friends,” Carlos replied with a shrug.

  Matt shook his head. “He kept looking over his shoulder like he was afraid someone was watching or listening. And it couldn’t have been you, since he would’ve known you and Al were up in the north pasture.”

  “If you think there is something behind his behavior, then ask him.” Carlos turned his attention back to his ledger. “But I doubt it has anything to do with me. Stop grasping at straws and leave the man in peace.”

  “Just let me know if you ever want to talk,” Matt replied, and then he’d left Carlos alone.

  Since then Carlos had focused on his work and kept to himself, while the rest of the hands started preparing for Christmas with trips into town to buy presents, writing letters to friends and family, and helping Gil and Matt decorate with greenery and red ribbon tied into fat bows. Gil even had a Christmas tree in the big house decorated with popcorn strings and handblown glass ornaments.

  Everyone was too busy to bother him—except Caleb, who still sought him out despite his efforts to rebuff the young man. Carlos had tried to ignore Caleb’s flirting, but he was growing weary of Caleb’s persistence, and his temper was frayed these days. He didn’t want to get angry over a young man’s infatuation, but if Caleb kept pushing, Carlos knew he might reach the snapping point.

  As if summoned by his thoughts, there was a knock on the doorframe, and he looked up to find Caleb there, leaning against the edge of the door and giving him a heated smile. “All alone?” Caleb asked, his voice a deep, raspy drawl.

  Carlos closed his eyes briefly and drew in a quiet breath, bracing himself for another annoying round of evasion. “As you can see, I am busy,” he replied, turning his attention back to the records he was updating.

  “All that book work can wait, can’t it? I want to talk to you.” Caleb straightened and entered the small office without waiting to be invited.

  Carlos grimaced, hoping now wasn’t the time the boy had decided to take a more aggressive approach, because he wasn’t at all in the mood to deal with it. “About what?”

  “About you and me.” Caleb perched on the edge of Carlos’s desk and stretched out his long legs alongside Carlos’s chair. “Don’t be coy.”

  “There is no you and me,” Carlos replied tersely as he pushed his chair back to put some space between himself and Caleb.

  “Not yet, maybe, but it’s only a matter of time.” Caleb leaned forward. “You want me. I know you do. I’m done playing around.”

  A startled laugh escaped Carlos as he stood up and faced Caleb, staring at him incredulously. “You think I want you? I have neither said nor done anything to encourage you, not because I am being coy but because I harbor no desire for you.”

  He was chagrined to realize he had probably been as certain of his own appeal in his youth as Caleb was now, but he liked to think he hadn’t been foolish enough to see desire where it didn’t exist.

  Caleb’s brows snapped together, and he stood up to face Carlos directly. “You did want me. Don’t lie.” There was a growling undercurrent to Caleb’s voice. “Then that old man showed up and you started chasing him instead of me.”

  Cold anger filled Carlos at the mention of Jules, and he drew himself up to his full height as he stared icily at Caleb. “I did not want you before Mr. Wingate arrived, and I do not want you now. He is not an old man, and his presence has no bearing on whatever fantasies you have built up in your head about us.”

  “I ain’t built up nothing in my head. You wanted me!” Caleb stepped closer. “Then that old man showed up and ruined it all! You danced along to his tune, panting after him. You just wanted him because he wasn’t sleeping with you, right? But that’s all over now. He ain’t never gonna be with you, so you might as well move on.”

  Carlos was done being polite, and he sneered at this foolish, arrogant boy who couldn’t seem to grasp the concept that not every man he wanted would fall into bed with him. “I wanted him because I am in love with him. It may be over between us, but I am not going to move on, especially not with you.”

  Caleb’s eyes widened. “But… I’m in love with you, Carlos! I ain’t thought of nothing but you since I first stepped foot on this ranch.” The bravado seemed to slip away. “I’d be better for you than he would. I’m young and I’m strong, and I can keep up with you. We’d have years together here on this ranch. You gotta see I’m better for you than he is!”

  At a different point in his life, Carlos might have accepted Caleb’s offer. If they had met before Jules reappeared, if Carlos were further along in mourning the loss of hope for reconciling with Jules and loneliness had started to creep in. Perhaps then he would have said yes. But now, he couldn’t think about touching another man, especially not one who reminded him so keenly of his younger self, the one who had ruined his chance for happiness with Jules.

  “No,” he replied quietly. “There is no one better for me than he is. Leave my office now, and we will forget this conversation took place.”

  Any hint of vulnerability or appeal disappeared from Caleb’s expression, and his lips twisted into an ugly snarl. “I ain’t forgetting nothing, Mr. High-and-Mighty Hernandez!” he spat. “You done made a big mistake picking that old man over me. I’m gonna make that stuck-up old bastard pay for this, you just wait!”

  Before Carlos could say anything, there was a gasp from just outside the door, and Jules stepped into view, his face white and his blue eyes wide and dark with horror.

  “You swore!” he said. “You swore if he turned you down, you wouldn’t!”

  Caleb gave a bitter laugh, his expression cruel. “So I lied. Now you can both see what it costs to cross me.”

  Carlos looked back and forth between the two of them, bewildered. He was missing something, and that was only making him angrier. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Jules looked at Carlos, and there was a world of pain in his eyes. “He came to me and told me if I didn’t break things off with you, he’d go to Mr. McManus and tell him about me, and that if I told you or Matt and Gil about it, he’d expose everyone I care about publicly. He didn’t care about ruining all our lives as long as he could have you.”

  Carlos rounded on Caleb, staring implacably at him. “Is this true?” he demanded.

  “Why do you care?” Caleb snarled. “You coulda had me, but now I want you all to pay.”

  Fury rose up white-hot, overwhelming Carlos until he could scarcely see, fueled by the agony of grief over losing Jules. And for what? Nothing but this young fool’s pride. Without conscious thought or plan, he cocked his fist and swung, punching Caleb hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground, blood streaming from his nose.

  “Idiot!” he spat. “Do you truly think the word of a roughneck boy means more than that of Gil Porter? He is the nephew of Vernon Porter, whose good name has been known in these parts for decades, and he has done much to establish his own good name as well. All he has to do is denounce you as a liar and a thief, and you will not find work for hundreds of miles.”

  Caleb wiped the blood from his nose with the back of one hand, giving Carlos a look of combined anger and fear. But he wasn’t cowed yet, because he sneered, watching Carlos carefully even as he slowly rose to his feet. “Texas is an awfully big state, and you can’t ruin me everywhere,” he spat. “But even a breath of scandal in a little place like Mercy can ruin a man—and a word to Mr. McManus about this old man liking boys will put paid to his precious stepson’s plans to marry sweet little Tabitha, won’t it?”

  “Try it, and you will learn how many men I can convince to swear you are attempting to discredit Al because you tried and failed to seduce him,” Carlos replied coldly. “I will see to it that you are humiliated in public and driven out of town in disgrace. I have the status and influence in Mercy to do it. You do not.”

  For the first time, Caleb hesitated. “You c
ouldn’t,” he blustered, his eyes narrowed as he tried to stare Carlos down. “You don’t have that much influence! You ain’t nothing but a Mexican cowboy. It’ll be your word against mine.”

  “It will be your word against mine, along with Gil, Matt, José, Jeanie Carruthers, and her husband, Dr. Carruthers. I can find others.” Carlos stared back at Caleb with unrelenting fury. “Perhaps I will ask Dr. Carruthers to explain how you damaged your brain after a bad fall, and it has made you prone to telling lies. Perhaps he will recommend that you should be hospitalized for your own safety.”

  Caleb flinched; that line of argument struck a nerve. But he glared, seeming defiant even in defeat. “You’re all crazy!” he said. “Fine! I’m leaving this place, and you can all go to hell!”

  Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the office. As he left, he brushed past Jules, and Jules flinched away, awkward on his crutches, and fell to the ground.

  With anger still bubbling in his blood, Carlos crossed the room, picked up the crutches, and leaned them against the wall. Then he silently held out his hand to Jules.

  Jules stared up at him, then slid his hand into Carlos’s, allowing Carlos to pull him back to his feet. “Thank you,” he murmured, then lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

  Carlos suspected there was more to the story than he had heard, but right now, he wanted to focus on making sure Caleb left the area without causing any trouble for anyone. He grabbed the crutches and handed them to Jules.